Within The Gilded Cage
by Crooked Mile
Summary: As it turned out, waking up in a locked room was the least of Ryoma's problems. Thrill Pair


**A/N**: Er...I guess the Horror genre lured me back in again. XD I am helpless against it, I say! But this one isn't totally my fault! This is an answer to a challenge I took on the Pointless but Original Talking forum. (But explaining the challenge would give away the whole plot, so I won't.)

_Challenge Issued By_: reckless-rage

_Message to Challenger_: This is going to be a fun fic to write. I hope you enjoy it, even if it isn't exactly what you thought it should be. T.T

**Warnings**: _EXTREMELY DARK_. Themes of sadism and psychological torture are/will be prevalent!

**Pairings**: Thrill. I guess.

**Special Thanks**: To my beta, Asami-chann! She's probably thinking up ways to kill me, since I haven't contacted her in forever. XD

* * *

**Chapter 1:**

* * *

**"Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live,  
it is asking others to live as one wishes to live."**

_--Oscar Wilde_

* * *

Ryoma was first aware of how annoying the light was.

It was more sensation than actual perception, the warm glow alighting on his closed eyelids that grew into an irritation. He opened his eyes, squinting against the harsh fluorescence that assaulted his unfocused pupils. He felt sluggish, as if a smoky veil had been pulled over his thoughts, and his body was encased in a vat of honey.

He tried to move his fingers--they were rather warm. His fingernail scratched against something velvety but firm. He attempted to sit up, using his hands as leverage, which is when he caught sight of them: two paws had replaced his hands.

That wasn't entirely accurate; more like his hand was encased in what appeared to be a cat's paw. It was large enough to allow his fingers some movement, and it was attached to his wrist by a very secure buckle. The fur was midnight black, the pads a pale pink, but it lacked claws. Just by looking at them, he could tell he wouldn't be able to grab anything like this; it was practically as good as handcuffs.

As the sluggishness receded, Ryoma became aware of several other attachments that hadn't been on him previously: a long black tail and cat ears. He had batted off the cat ears first--they had been attached to a nondescript black headband, though the ears themselves were of the same color as Ryoma's hair, the insides a pale pink matching the paws. The tail remained defiantly on, attached to a black string that wrapped securely around his waist, with two security strings looped just above his thighs to connect securely to the two-foot long velvety tail above his butt.

He didn't even want to think about how the person had tied it up. The attire he had previously wearing had all but disappeared: now he was dressed in black denim shorts that ended mid-thigh and a loose-fitting white button-up with one button actually done. He could feel something tight around his neck and he could piece together the theme to easily figure out what it was: a collar--with a bell.

With every movement, it jingled. It was the only sound in the empty room; the floor was covered in a thick, red carpet. He had previously been lying on what looked to be a large pet bed: a thick comforter dressed in wine red with a matching blanket. There was a single chair in the room, antique-looking with a dark green seat embroidered with tarnished oak wood, settled back against the door-less wall. There were only two doors in the room, for the north and east walls. The one on the right was nothing more than a doorway, and Ryoma craned his neck to glimpse the inside: a dimly-lit bathroom, nothing more than a sink, toilet, and a movable shower head in the corner. The northern door was made out of sturdy wood, dark-paneled, but a foot from the bottom was a slate of hard metal, about the size and shape of a textbook. A slot.

Ryoma didn't want to call out.

His memory was foggy, the details escaping him. All he remembered was having a match with Momo earlier; his best friend, currently a freshman in college, had finally taken a break between classes and his part-time job for a little tennis match. While he was nothing compared to Ryoma, it was good just to hang out. They had gotten burgers after, then Momo had to leave to get ready for a date with his girlfriend, Tachibana An. Afterwards, Ryoma had walked...he probably went back to the street tennis courts to see if anyone was around to play with....but he couldn't be sure.

There was a foul taste in his mouth; he could piece together the fact that he had likely been drugged. He didn't think many people were keen on kidnapping boys his age--didn't child predators opt for the younger?--but to go so far as to costume him up like some doll was too much. Or perhaps pet was the better word? Ryoma didn't know nor care, the angry scowl on his lips the only emotion shown in the way he carried himself.

Pacing the perimeter of the room, Ryoma noted there were no windows, and it was clear the only way in or out was the northern door. Both the chair and the pet bed on the floor were drilled down, making them immovable, and this more than anything worried the freshman. Had his kidnapper planned so far ahead that he even dealt with the furniture? How long was his kidnapper planning to keep him here?

His trapped hands were useless to any endeavors made on his part, as the handle to the door leading out refused to budge and his inspection of the bathroom bore no fruit. The white-tiled floor covering the bathroom was grungy, in a way, and the sink and toilet looked like they had come straight out of a gas station's bathroom. The nozzle of the shower looked the newest out of the furnishings, a shiny metal connected to a stretchable hose. There was a drain on the floor, but no rim to dictate where the shower started and bathroom ended, nor was there a shower curtain.

Ryoma strode back out to the plush room, standing in the center and straining his ears to pick up on anything. Nothing but silence greeted him, and he moved slowly along the walls of the room, ear pressed against the flat surface on the chance he would hear through it. Again, nothing but silence.

Golden eyes flicked about the room almost desperately at this point, before zeroing in on something in the corner. A video camera sat positioned at the junction between the northern and western walls, high as the ceiling and angled down to take in the entire view of the room. A blinking green light showed it was on and Ryoma could not resist the urge to glare at it.

Ryoma took another journey into the bathroom, and sure enough, a video camera was positioned in the corner above the sink. Ryoma felt something inside him cringe, a sickened feeling coiling into his gut; so he would also be watched in the bathroom?

He immediately chose not to think about it. Such thoughts were better left for another time and he knew he needed his wits about him if he wanted to live through this. He had to keep himself ready to jump at the opportunities to escape and otherwise keep his kidnapper's attention off of him as much as possible. Judging by his costume, such attention did not bode well.

If Ryoma were to be honest with himself, he would admit he was scared. Terrified, even; his breath was coming in shorter gasps as he padded about the room, looking for any possible means of escape. The metal slot in the door did not push outward and it scraped the floor so that he couldn't even fit a finger underneath, had his hands been free from the cat's paw.

Ryoma edged back to the wall, to the right of the door and directly under the video camera; some part of him hoped he was in its blind spot, but the angle at which it was tilted made that impossible.

Ryoma drew his knees to his chest, and as he bent his head down, he realized just how cold it was in the room.

* * *

Time trickled by slowly it seemed, but his sense for it had been robbed from him by the windowless, clock-less room. Sometimes the air would feel heavy and suffocating while at other times he was too light-headed to take much notice. Ryoma wondered if this was an after-effect of the drug that had been used to knock him out.

No one had come by. The freshman had heard neither a step nor a whisper of voices, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was not alone. The emotion stemmed, perhaps, from the ever-present video camera; the green light brightened in and out in a constant stream**.** Ryoma was starting to develop a not-altogether-irrational hatred for it.

Ryoma knew his kidnapper had to be watching from the other end and he loathed them all the more for it.

He had taken a seat in the only available chair, the floor having been too hard to sit on for long and he absolutely refused to go near the pet bed. The ears lay in the corner under the video camera, after Ryoma had seen fit to throw them at the piece of technology. His paws proved to be even more of an inconvenience during the gesture, so Ryoma had resolved to ignore it to spare himself from self-humiliation.

He may have been trapped in there for what felt like hours and slowly Ryoma's panic subsided into emptiness. His stomach growled with hunger and the chill in the room had not lessened even slightly. His hatred for his surroundings grew within him like a breathing monster; the furniture, the floor, even the way the light shined in the air infuriated a disgust in him he didn't even know was there.

His extremities felt too hot, his hand stifled by its vinyl cage and his back stiff and uncomfortable with the tail pressing awkwardly against it. He had toyed with the idea of trying to take it off, but he was worried about his kidnapper seeing him strip and attempt his task. He didn't want to incite them any more than he had to.

Ryoma stiffened as the sound of metal grating along concrete broke across the silence of the room and he peered around the back of the chair he was in just in time to see the slot slide close.

There, sitting innocuously on the floor, was a tray of food.

Nothing more than two wide bowls, one filled with milk and the other with a soppy sort of ground beef. Ryoma got out of the chair, going towards the food with a wary eye on the slot. He nudged the tray away from the door, in the chance that whoever had given it to him would reach through again to reclaim it or grab at him, before he sat down on the floor to criticize his meal.

There was a noticeable lack of utensils. Ryoma evaluated they wouldn't do him much good anyway, as his hands were virtually useless. He carefully tried to lift the bowl of milk from the tray, but it began to slip from the unnatural curves of his manufactured paws. He quickly set it down, a spatter of milk sloshing off to the side and onto the tray. Ryoma stared at his meal with glassy eyes, suddenly fighting the overwhelming need to cry.

Ryoma knew there was only one way to eat his meal and he could only stare at the food longingly as his pride kept him from the one method. He had come to the abrupt realization he was starving, and as this was his first meal, the fact that he would be reduced to that in order to eat it was something that made the bile in his throat rise. A burning sensation erupted behind his eyes and he bowed his head and waited for the nausea to pass.

Defiantly, Ryoma stood and sat back down in the chair, burying his head in his knees.

Three hours later, he went back to the tray of food, lowered his head to the milk, and lapped it up like a cat.

* * *

After the initial meal, Ryoma had been treated to six more trays of similar food; the food was generally easy to pick up with his tongue and the milk was sometimes substituted with water. The freshman had guessed that each tray of food signified each mealtime (breakfast, lunch, dinner) and guessed that at least three days had passed.

It was an unsettling thought. By this time, people had likely figured out he was missing. He wondered if his parents were looking, as well as the other Regulars; while the former Seigaku regulars were in different schools, it didn't mean they didn't stay in contact. They met practically every week at Kawamura Sushi, after all. His teammates in his tennis club were probably panicking at this point--they were supposed to go into the prefectural finals soon; Dan Taichi had built up quite a fearsome rival team. Horio was probably coming up with wild stories left and right as Ryoma sat here.

The thought brought a wave of longing so intense Ryoma had to forcibly choke back a wave of tears. He wouldn't cry in front of that damned video camera; showing even the slightest sign of weakness would be like giving up and he wouldn't give his kidnapper the satisfaction. Ryoma would just wait for an opportunity to present itself--it was sure to come eventually.

Hopefully.

Ryoma slumped back into the chair with a frown. It was very uncomfortable at this point; he had entertained the idea of sleeping on the floor, but the satisfaction that action would give to his kidnapper was not something Ryoma could bear. He'd rather bite off his own tongue.

_Click-clack._

The sound startled the boy out of the seat and he swiveled around to stare at the door with wary eyes. Metal-on-metal screeched through the door, and Ryoma was coming to the horrible conclusion he would finally be facing who had kept him in here.

He almost felt like rushing whoever it was once they opened the door, but the freshman didn't want to risk it; it was highly probable his kidnapper would have some sort of weapon and he wasn't going to risk a knife to his gut in some fanatic attempt for freedom. If there was one thing Inui had taught him, it was to analyze his situation and formulate a response from that. His kidnapper and the items they held was his final and most necessary piece of data; Ryoma could bear to wait a few more moments if it meant him coming out alive from this.

The locks--there had to be at least seven--seemed to have all been unhinged and finally the door opened and admitted a solitary person into view. Dark jeans adorned slim legs, a lithe torso covered by a simple blue button-up and white sneakers stepping onto the carpeted floor with a light sound. Chestnut hair topped a pale, feminine face, set with open sapphire eyes and smiling lips.

Ryoma could feel his breath stop.

"Sorry I took so long," Fuji Syuusuke apologized lightly.

* * *

**End...Chapter 1.**

**A/N**: Blame reckless-rage! XD

Anyway, I expect this fic to be a short one--I panned out five chapters, but sometimes my outlines like to screw me over--but chapters should be heavy. (Not exactly _long_, just with heavy content. XD)

Reviews are very, very appreciated and critiques are heartily welcomed!


End file.
